


Burn Like Ice

by Val_Creative



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark Magic, F/M, Horror, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Romance, Vampire/Ghost Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:29:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Drusilla wanders into an underground magical gateway leading into the Murder House. She likes what she finds.
Relationships: Drusilla (BtVS)/Tate Langdon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 7
Collections: X-Ship - The Crossover Flash Exchange





	Burn Like Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



*

In her visions, Drusilla sees what she needs to see. She has little control over it.

"There is a hole… in the universe…"

Drusilla stretches herself out on a metal industrial table, lying on her back. Her pale wrists rise above her head. Crimson velvet pools heavily around Drusilla's form, swaddling her as a babe needs swaddling. Like she swaddles Miss Edith for a nap.

"Can you not see it…"

Footsteps reverberate in this abandoned building on the edge of Sunnydale. Drusilla can sense Angelus prowling out of the corner of her eye. They're forced to live in shadows. Hunt like rats. Spike has been getting impatient with Angelus' plans.

"Eating…" Drusilla licks her fingertips, moving her tongue in slow, ravenous exaggeration. "Eating away at the light…"

"Where is it, Dru?" 

She's intriguing Angelus once more. His voice feral-raspy.

Drusilla grins, hooking one of her fingers into her mouth. Feeling over her crimson-lipstick lips and molars, imagining her front teeth sharp as a needle. "Somewhere dark…" she whispers, tittering and singsonging, "Forever and ever and ever…" 

_"And ever…"_

*

They must go deep underground. Angelus sends out their vampiric underlings to investigate.

Drusilla feels along a wall dripping slime, humming softly. She gravitates towards the chasm in the shadows they know so well, her fingers lifting. Her flesh burns like ice. She is not afraid of what lies beyond the chasm's opening maw to another world.

Instead of Angelus or Spike going first, Drusilla steps through herself.

She finds herself in a dungeon of sorts, with no lights or lanterns. Everything's slab-grey.

Drusilla climbs up a dusty wooden staircase, discovering the first floor of a manor. A very small manor. There's no grandly carved furniture or antiques to ornate the lower rooms. No finely threaded draperies for the windows. No carpeting or rugs. No living soul lurking to discover her.

But there is _evil_ … an evil so foul and fearsome that Drusilla practically rolls her eyes back from pleasure.

" _Ooooohh_ ~!" Drusilla sighs, quivering and clapping her hands. She bounces on her heels. "It's _wonderful_ here~~! I feel like I'm _flying_!"

Whatever controls this place… it cannot sense her. For whatever reason. Drusilla walks freely, overhearing her companions downstairs and hurrying up the manor's staircase preceding to the uppermost floor. She has no need to wait.

In another room, a vacant-eyed boy sits by himself. He holds out his arm in front of him. 

Blood seeps over Tate's arm. He bends it, sticking out his tongue and dragging it over his skin with a purposeful, playful slowness. Tate laps up his own blood. Drusilla feels a shudder overcome her when a moan escapes him.

Evil surrounds him, poisoning him… and yet, it does not belong to the secretive and holy darkness residing in Tate's heart.

"What a lovely sound that is…"

He startles. 

"Who the _FUCK_ are you?" Tate demands, jerking to his feet. Violet's bed creaks.

Drusilla clucks her tongue at his impudent frown.

"Let Mummy see…" she murmurs, coming forward and grasping onto Tate's injured, bleeding arm. Though dead he may be, Drusilla can sense a warm echo surrounding him. It's what lingers of Tate in this world of his. She's dead here, too. 

Even with the doubtful look, Tate allows her to stroke a hand over his palm, his cheek and his bottom lip.

"Shh… shh, shh…" Drusilla leers. "You will be taken care of, my sweet… do not fret… I am here for you now…"

He eyes her, relaxing.

"You didn't die here, did you?" a curious Tate asks. "Holy shit. Are you even human?"

Drusilla's features tighten, reshaping into a vampiric mask. A snarling giggle escapes her throat.

_"No more than you are, dearie."_

Tate stares at her, wide-eyed and mesmerized. She cannot smell fear on him. 

A thrum of lust peaks. He leans in, roughly crushing his lips to hers. Drusilla growls high-pitched in delight, throwing her arms around him and feeling his tongue rub against hers. Tate thrusts himself past her fangs, managing to remain intact and unbled.

His hands grope over Drusilla's breasts. One of Drusilla's fingernails claw into his oversized, green-and-black sweater.

It's kissing the thin veil of death. 

It's loss of control.

He's not of her world, and she's not of his.

They have met in the centre of doom and despair. And demise as glorious as crushed velvet on her bare, pale skin.

*


End file.
